“I wish it was that simple.” Finn took out a card and handed it to him. “Let me think about it and we may be back in touch.”
Porter reached into his jacket and pulled out two cards of his own. He handed Finn and Kozlowski each one. “I hope you will be.” He walked over to the door and opened it for them. Just as they got to the door, though, he closed it slightly, blocking their path. “There is one thing you should explain to your hypothetical client, Mr. Finn,” he said. “If he does not come forward, and we find him… all bets are off. I have no doubt in those circumstances that the Justice Department will bring its full weight to bear on him and anyone else involved.”
Finn looked at Porter. When they stood next to each other the size difference was striking, and yet the FBI agent no longer seemed small. There was an intensity to him that was intimidating. “I understand, Agent Porter. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Chapter Thirty-One
She had known fear before. It had been a constant companion of hers; like a shadow that faded from time to time, but was always present. She had never known fear like this, though.
The basement was dark. She could feel the mold and mildew surrounding her. On her skin; in her hair; in her nose; growing all around her, choking off her air. It gave her panic a physical presence, and she tried unsuccessfully to put it out of her consciousness.
She had to focus. The one thing that had kept her alive through her short and difficult life was her ability to keep her head, even as everything around her was falling apart. She needed that strength now, but every time she tried to take a deep breath to settle herself, the stench of decay invaded her lungs, carrying with it a new wave of terror.
She looked around the basement. It was difficult; her arms were strapped together with duct tape and she was lying on her side on the stone floor carved from the bedrock. Every time she turned, the tape ripped at her skin, sending flashes of pain up her arms. She was secured to a pipe in the corner of the basement, prevented from repositioning herself. But with some effort and pain she was able to turn enough on her back so that she could see the place in its macabre entirety.
It was little more than a glorified crawl space, perhaps five feet high. Above her the floor joists were visible, with ancient, fraying strips of insulation tucked into the gaps. In many places the moisture had eaten its way through the strips, and yellow-brown strands of matted fiberglass hung in frozen drips, like toxic stalactites. There was a furnace in the corner, covered in rust and oil residue, with its piping reaching up toward the rest of the house, like tentacles grasping for freedom.
She heard the door open and the footsteps on the stairs, and strained even further to get a better look. The man descended slowly, the rotted wooden planks on the ancient stairs creaking painfully with each step. He’d said little to her in the car, making clear only that if she shouted or tried to get away he would kill her.
When they’d arrived at the little house, he’d reiterated his threat and told her to walk in front of him to the door. He pushed her into the house and forced her quickly into the basement, which he’d prepared for her arrival. Other than telling her to lie down, he said nothing while he tied her down. He used a last strip of duct tape to seal her mouth.
Now he reached the bottom of the staircase and bent slightly to avoid bumping his head on the flooring above. Moving toward her, he picked up a small crate and brought it over, putting it down next to her head and sitting down. He looked at her for what seemed like a long time, saying nothing. She looked back, searching his face for some sign of pity or compassion. She saw none.
The gun he’d held from the moment he’d grabbed her was still in his hand, and he placed it on the ground next to him, the barrel pointing at the back of her head. He reached out and pried loose a corner of the tape that covered her mouth. He gave a hard and fast pull, ripping it from her face. She gave a short, involuntary cry, and he picked up the gun again, holding it over her. She choked back tears.
There was an air of expectation to his demeanor, as if he was waiting for her to say something. If so, she was determined that he be disappointed. In spite of her fear, she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of showing weakness. After a moment he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a bottle of water. He twisted the cap off and moved the bottle at an angle toward her, holding it up to her lips. “Open,” he said.
She opened her mouth and he tipped the bottle up, letting the water run down toward her. It was awkward, and most of the water ran down over her cheek, splattering on the floor. It was cold, though, and her mouth was thick with fear. The water tasted good, and she lapped at it, swallowing hard to get as much as she could.
He took the bottle away and reached into his pocket again, this time pulling out a cereal bar. He unwrapped it and dangled it in front of her mouth, lowering it so that she could take a bite. “Eat,” he said.
She did. When she had finished the cereal bar, he put the water bottle and the wrapper from the cereal bar into his pocket. “Do you have to use the bathroom?”
She hadn’t even thought of it until that moment; she’d been too scared. “Yes,” she replied.
He pulled a long knife out of a sheath hanging from his belt and cut the tape that was wrapped around her wrists and the pipe to which she was attached. It left her arms taped together, but she was free from the ground, at least. She sat up awkwardly. “Where?” she asked.
He pointed to a corner of the basement. A blanket was draped over a rope tied to the ceiling. It provided little privacy. “There’s a can behind there,” he said.
“Can I use the bathroom upstairs?”
He shook his head.
She could feel the tears running down her cheeks as she moved over to the corner, but she brushed them away. Once she was done, she stepped from behind the blanket. He hadn’t moved.
“Lie back down,” he said.
He wrapped the duct tape around her wrists, securing them again to the pipe coming up from the floor. Then he tore off another strip just long enough to cover her mouth.
“You don’t have to,” she said. “I’ll be quiet.”
He shook his head. “Close your mouth.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Close your mouth.”
“What do you want?”
He reached forward and pasted the tape hard to her face. “Nothing you can give me,” he said. Then he stood and walked to the staircase, stooped over to avoid the ceiling. The steps groaned as he walked up toward the light from the floor above. It seemed to Sally that the noise was even louder than when he had come down. Then the door closed, and the basement was dark again. She pulled at the tape, just to make sure that there wasn’t any chance that he’d been sloppy and left enough give for her to pull free. He hadn’t, though, and the tape pulled painfully at her skin again.
She put her head down, resting it on the dirty concrete in the puddle that had formed from the water that had spilled from her lips. The tears came freely at last, dripping off the side of her face and mixing with the water on the floor. She wasn’t much for self-pity, and yet there was a point at which even she couldn’t bear any more. She wondered whether she had reached that point.
Sean Broadark was sitting on a stool in the kitchen when Kilbranish came up. It was the first time Liam could remember the man coming off the sofa in the living room.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Broadark asked him. Liam had never heard the man express anger before. Anger wasn’t a soldier’s emotion. It clouded a soldier’s thinking. It was a bad sign.
“I’m getting the paintings back,” Liam replied. He moved past the man and into the living room.
“This was never part of the deal,” Broadark said, following him. “I never agreed to this.”
Liam stopped and turned, facing Broadark. He squinted at the other man, so close to him that the pits on his face looked like lunar craters. Liam wondered which of them had lost the greater degree of sanity. He supposed it didn’t really matter. “You didn’t agree to what, Sean?”